Give and Take
by MG12CSI16
Summary: "She's not sure what just happened, all she knows is that she has no objections and Sherlock Holmes was welcome in her house whenever he wanted."/ or, when one of Sherlock's experiments destroys the flat and an upset John makes arrangements to stay with his girlfriend, Sherlock is left with only one place to go. This is not necessarily a bad thing for Molly.


Hello all. First I'd like to start by saying that no, I don't know where this came from or why I wrote it, it was just an idea that wouldn't leave my head until I wrote it down. It just kept nagging me. Secondly, thank you all so much for all the amazing reviews and nice words you leave. i'm so grateful for all of you and I can't thank you enough.

Now that all of that is out of the way, I hope you enjoy this and feel free to leave a review and give me your opinion!

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**Give and Take**

It really isn't all his fault.

He knows John disagrees, and from his spot on the other side of the street with his arms crossed and eyes burning with anger Sherlock supposes it's better that Lestrade decided to put some space between the two. Above them grey smoke billows in the air and the charred building in front of them continues to be bathed by the army of firefighters that have gathered around.

With a heavy sigh and one last glance at a hysterical Mrs Hudson as she watches the scene unfold Sherlock wraps his coat tightly around himself and approaches Lestrade, ignoring the cellphone pressed against the detectives ear as he starts talking. "How long until you've finished with all this unnecessary business. It was an accident and I hardly think it warrants your innate officers making a mess of my things."

With a groan and a few deep breaths as he hangs up his call Lestrade shoves his hands into his pockets, foot tapping rapidly against the concrete in obvious annoyance.

This isn't how he was supposed to be spending his night.

"It's not that easy Sherlock. The place all but blew up and there are people living on this street who aren't going to settle for the answer, 'oh, your neighbor decided he was bored and conducted his own experiments. Shame one of them decided to explode.' Besides it's not like you can actually live in that place right now. Half of it's charred. Have you got another place to stay for now, I know John's already got his arrangements taken care of?"

Sherlock's eyebrows shoot up at the statement, his neck craning to look at his obviously furious friend. He looks back at Lestrade with confusion in his eyes.

"Well he has yet to tell me, where are we going? It can't be his sister and he knows I refuse help from Mycroft."

Lestrade hides a grin, amused that he hasn't figured it out. "_John_ is staying with some woman named Sarah. And from what I've been able to gather, _you_ haven't been invited."

"Oh come on, he can't really be mad at me. It's not like he would've died, there was a fire extinguisher two feet away."

"Yeah, fat lot of good it did too huh?" They both glance back at the building, now a sopping, black mess situated in the middle of the street with a cluter of curious bystanders pointing and commenting . In a moment of embaressment and frustration Sherlock ducks his head, leaving Lestrade standing on the sidewalk barking orders at his team as he turns on his heels, approaching John with caution. The blonde man glares at him, a smudge of black dust staining his cheek.

"I hope you're happy with yourself Sherlock. These repairs are going to cost us a fortune. Why can't you just listen to me for once when I tell you that some of your ideas are just dangerous and stupid?"

"It was hardly stupid," he protests, "I had to beg Molly to get those organs, and it took days just to get everything in the right order. It was merely an accident and poor judgment that lead to...that."

John rolls his eyes. "Either way Sherlock this is your fault. I'm going to stay with Sarah for a few days while we sort this out, I think a little time apart is best right now."

He watches the doctor stomp away, leaving him alone on the sidewalk staring blankly at his work and the mess he was somehow able to create. With a glance at his watch he lets out a sigh and decides if he's going to avoid Mycroft's assistance he might want to get started on his living arrangements for the next few weeks.

...

Molly's shift lasts longer than she anticipates.

An accident that occurs just before she's set to leave puts two new bodies on the table and a few more hours of work on her plate. So when she finally climbs the steps to her flat, all she can think of is a hot bath and take out from whichever menu she finds first.

Juggling her things in one arm she pulls her keys from her pocket and in a few ungraceful movements she opens the door. She frowns slightly when she notices the light in the kitchen is turned on, and she could have sworn she had shut it off before she left that morning.

Shaking her head she drops her bag by the door, moving across the dark living room and feeling for the lamp on the table. She flicks it on with a triumphant smile, letting out a shriek when the figure that's sitting on her couch is suddenly visible.

Molly presses a hand against her chest and gasps. "Sherlock. You've nearly scared me to death." She pauses, staring at him as if he were absolutely mad (it's looking more promising with each passing second). "What the bloody hell are you doing here?"

"I may or may not have caused some damage to the flat and John deserted me to stay with his _girlfriend_." He hisses. Molly drops on the couch beside him in a sudden daze and tries to wrap her head around his words but she's so tired and the last thing she really wants is to deal with an obviously cranky Sherlock Holmes.

"What happened to your flat?" she asks, massaging her temples.

Sheepishly Sherlock turns his gaze towards the television, managing to mumble a pathetic, "Experiment gone wrong."

Molly cocks her head to the side tiredly and sighs. She has a feeling the kidneys she had given him the other day met a very unfortunate end. She pushes the thought aside.

"And you're in my flat because?" Sherlock rolls his eyes and jumps to his feet.

"Isn't it obvious Molly? I need somewhere to stay until the necessary repairs can be made and you're the only one who won't say no."

Folding her arms across her chest Molly huffs at the words, "and how do you know I won't say no?" Sherlock fixes her with a look, as if daring her to try and argue his point.

"When have you ever said no to me? If you aren't going to say it when I come into your place of employment and demand organs than I highly doubt it's going to occur to you to turn me away when I have no where else to go."

ignoring the two red blots on her cheeks and the agitation quickly boiling up inside of her Molly decides it's really not worth it to argue with the detective and she shrugs her shoulders in defeat, pointing to the closet just to their right.

"There are blankets and extra things in there, make yourself comfortable and please be nice to Toby." she shrugs off her coat and hangs it up before she walks toward her bedroom, leaving Sherlock alone in her living room and an imagination full of things that could possibly go wrong with this sudden development.

...

The first few days with Sherlock in the flat are strange to say the least.

The morning after he arrives Molly wakes up and for a few moments she just lies there, staring at the ceiling and reeling from the fact that Sherlock Holmes was in her living room and there was no crime scene in the vicinity She swallows the laugh bubbling inside of her and hopes, prays that things aren't going to go downhill like they tend to when Sherlock is around.

For the most part, Sherlock seems to keep to himself. He wakes long before she does (if he even manages to fall asleep) and when she steps out of the shower she finds the couch empty with nothing but a rumpled afghan and dressing gown left. He spends most of his time looking for cases, occasionally stopping by the morgue or the lab when the need for her skills or equipment arises.

Sometimes when she comes home at night he's watching her television or digging through her cabinets looking for something to entertain himself with and when she scolds him for going through her things after a long day when her nerves are shot and she doesn't think she can stand any longer he pouts and slinks back to the couch which is slowly becoming his own personal nest.

It's not until a little after two in the morning, when the smell of something burning has her out of bed and racing to the kitchen, finding Sherlock bent over a microscope that seems to have magically appeared. On the stove she sees a pot of suspiciously colored water and she's ready to pull her hair out.

"What the hell is all of this?" she shrieks, her hands flailing. "Where did you get a microscope?"

"I payed one of Lestrade's robots to get it for me, it was taken in for 'evidence'." he shrugs his shoulders and turns his attention back to his work. Molly's mouth opens and closes a few times, no words actually coming out and whether it's due to shock, exhaustion or both she's not sure.

"You know I think a smart person wouldn't keep conducting experiments just like the one that blew his house up." she mutters, leaning against the counter. Sherlock scoffs but his eyes never leave his notebook, his hand scribbling faster than she thought possible.

"No, a smart person would realize the man they were seeing was married, and they would definitely notice when they've gained two pounds in less than a month."

"What? What on earth are you talking about?" she almost shouts, feeling her defenses rise almost instantly.

"Oh come on, you can't tell me you didn't notice the outline on his finger. When he came over to pick you up last weekend I saw it before he even walked all the way in the door. As for those two pounds I'd blame the takeout."

Molly gasps and her face flushes with embarrassment, her arms wrapping around herself in a sudden bout of self consciousness as she swallows back the lump in her throat. Blinking furiously she pushes off the counter, standing in front of Sherlock with balled fists.

"You know, I really didn't have to let you stay here. I did it because I care about you and I don't want you wandering around the city and getting into God knows what kind of trouble." she shakes her head as if she's disappointed and in reality she was. She turns to leave, calling over her shoulder just before she leaves the kitchen.

"I know you think caring isn't an advantage Sherlock but honestly how many people do you think would put up with things like this?"  
She's not surprised when she doens't hear a reply, and she's not surprised when the first sob leaves her body as soon as she shuts the bedroom door. As she prays for sleep to claim her again Molly tries hard not to feel the weight of regret weighing her down and she wonders how the hell she can love a man like Sherlock Holmes.

She curls up tightly, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt and ignoring the creak of the bedroom door, assuming Toby was coming in to take the spot at the end of her bed. But it's not Toby and the matress dips down under the weight of something much bigger than a cat and her body immediately tenses. Molly scrambles to roll over, seeing a mop of dark curls and Sherlock's jade colored irises staring at her.

"I'm sorry," is all he says as his hand reaches out, cupping her cheek as a thumb wipes away a stray tear. Her breath hitches and her skin feels like a thousand tiny pins are pricking her, she's always imagined this is what his touch would do to her.

"I'm very grateful you've let me stay here and I'm sorry I hurt you." He clears his throat and leans over, planting a soft kiss on her lips, lingering for a few seconds and taking in the taste of Molly Hooper.

She sighs into his mouth, hands snaking around his neck and tangling in his hair as she pulls him down with her, his fingers working desperately on the buttons of his shirt before it drops to the floor and he covers her body with his own. The rest of the night passes in a haze of desperate moans and fiery touches, sweat soaked skin and lips tracing trails of kisses over their bodies.

They end up a tangled pile of limbs by the end, chests heaving and lips curled into seemingly permanent smiles. Sherlock kisses the top of her head when he thinks she's gone to sleep before he slips out of bed, heading for the shower. When she hears the water begin to run she stretches out and stares at the ceiling, running a hand through her hair and blowing out a breath.

She's not sure what just happened, all she knows is that she has no objections and Sherlock Holmes was welcome in her house whenever he wanted.


End file.
